Rainbows on Roses
by The Unbreakable Snape Fan
Summary: Sirius and Snape have Herbology detention. They let their guard down, and the only thing they leave with is a heavier crop of hate. Slash.


Rainbows on Roses

"Snivellus!" Sirius roared as he entered the greenhouse for detention.

Snape merely stared blankly at him.

"It's your fault I'm here!"

"Oh really?"

"You're the one who was trying to dye my hair!"

"And you tried to wash mine."

"Yours needs it!" he said, almost growling.

"I appreciate your opinion on the matter. As for yours, I think it needs to be dyed all the colors of the rainbow. I just like keeping people . . . informed."

Sirius dropped the gardening glove he'd been in the process of putting on. The color drained from his face.

Snape smirked. "So it's true, then."

"What is? What's true?" said Sirius, still looking stunned.

"Oh, that you're rather partial to . . . fairies."

Sirius hissed, leaning over to pick up the glove and put it on. "Honestly, Snape, sometimes your head goes so far up your arse, I forget you have one. Forgetting your face isn't easy, Snivelly, because its profound hideousness haunts the dreams of everyone who's ever seen it."

"You dream of me?" retorted Snape.

"Yes. Horrible nightmares."

"So you're afraid of me, then?"

"Er . . . ."

"So they aren't nightmares after all."

"What?"

"Sex dreams? Do you have sexual dreams, sexual fantasies about me in the middle of the night?" said Snape softly, working on delicately rubbing some Mrs. Scower's into the soft petals of a rose.

"What?! No!"

"Are you certain?"

Sirius looked as if he might be ill.

"I mean," said Snape with a shrug, "if I am in your dreams, but the dreams are not, in fact, terrifying, they cannot, in fact, be nightmares. What other sort of dreams are there, really? You don't have to answer that, you know, we both know your little secret."

"What secret?" said Sirius in a dangerous tone.

"You want me. You dream of me, and plenty of other boys, I'm sure. Lucius Malfoy, maybe? I hear he's great in bed."

"Like you don't know that by experience!"

Snape chuckled. "Maybe I do, maybe I don't."

"Merlin, that's disgusting!" cried Sirius, wrinkling his nose.

"Would you like to throw me up against the worktable?" said Snape, almost sounding innocent.

"What?"

Snape turned to look at him. "Are you actually this daft? It's not a difficult question. Would you, Sirius Black, like to throw me against the worktable, that worktable, and have your wicked—and I do mean wicked—way with me?"

Sirius backed up a bit, slowly.

"Coward," said Snape with an evil grin.

"I'm not a pouf like you, you slime," hissed Sirius.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah!"

"Then prove it," Snape said quietly, still smirking.

"How and when, Snape. How and when?"

"Now, and fuck me."

Sirius paused, looking around. He slowly moved toward Snape's body, after checking to see if anyone was around the greenhouses.

"Let's make it quick."

Snape scoffed. "No doubt that it would be already, considering it's you."

"We'll just see about that," said Sirius.

And, really, it ended up exceeding Severus's expectations. "You know, you really are an idiot," he said to Sirius when he could speak again.

A hurt look flashed in the grey eyes, but Sirius stamped it down quickly. "Why?"

"You don't have to have sex with someone to be able to tell whether you like their gender or not."

Sirius flushed.

"Have a nice time cleaning your half of the roses."

"Snape?" called Sirius softly from behind him. Snape turned around to see what he had to say.

"You tell no one."

"Oh, fine. That's too bad, though," said Snape sarcastically, "because I was just dying to tell someone."

"Sounds like a good plan," said Sirius darkly. "That dying bit, I mean."

"This fuck was like a dream come true. Not my dream. Yours. Did you enjoy it, Sirius?"

Sirius scowled.

"Get a good look at my arse as I leave, Sirius," he said, using the name only to mock him, "because you'll never get it again."

Sirius sat down in front of the rosebush and reached for a rose, pricking his finger on accident. Sucking on it as he moved to find the glove, he looked up at the rosebush of rainbow roses, fighting the odd urge to cry as he did.


End file.
